Do you hear him? Claws scrape away at rotting bark.He’s whimpering as eucalyptus branches swat his hide.Panting mint leaf breathsthat he is never able to give back.Do you hear him? As he tramples through daisy fields.Breaking up sunflower seeds under callused paws. Listen, as he whispers anempty song. It’s cold and hard like cement walls he keeps creating topush petals out.Can you see him? Black, white shift with gray strands as hehunches over his shadow. He’s been blind for a while now, asPollen has planted rose thorns into his eyes and you hear himweep maple sap as he tries to claw them out of his hollow sockets.If only someone had told him once roses are cut down they grow back stronger,he’s getting weaker,can’t remember the last time his skin hadn’t been polluted with mayflowers.Before dawn, he plucks them out with his teeth,gnashing toxic nectar between acid-worn molars.Now they don’t stop, grow back on contact.Grapevines have wrapped themselves between sharp fangsand he can feel dandelions bloom in his kidneys.Those same rose thorns have travelled to his heart,carving reluctant apologies into his tissue.As poison ivy wraps around his lungs, he thought back and knewhe should have taken better care of his garden.